Shaken and Stirred
by nicevenn
Summary: The story of how Harry and Draco fell in love-in nine drinks.
1. Firewhisky

Draco only sat by the fire when Potter was in close proximity. It was irrational behaviour, he knew, but he couldn't shield himself from the memories unless his saviour was at hand. If he found himself alone near the flames, his forehead would break out in sweat and he would begin to struggle for breath. Yet he had always enjoyed the flicker and crackle of a burning fire, so whenever Potter and his fan club gathered in the eighth-year common room, Draco took the opportunity to lounge in the chair nearest to the hearth.

It was as chilly as ever inside the castle tonight, but a lack of warmth was not something Draco could complain about. He felt it on his cheeks from the fire, in his throat and chest from the alcohol, and in his belly from—well, he didn't like to admit what.

Draco tipped his head back, allowing the last few drops of Firewhisky to trickle into his mouth. After the final burning drop splashed onto his tongue, he set the glass down on the table beside him, right next to the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet_. From his seat over on the sofa, Potter looked at him and lifted a near-empty bottle, brows rising above the rims of his round spectacles. Draco shook his head. One drink too many could be as dangerous as Veritaserum, and a Slytherin would never put himself at such risk.

When he no longer had Potter's attention, Draco cast a surreptitious glance in his direction. The fan club had disappeared, leaving only Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Potter sat in the middle, as always. Weasley was to his left, opening what was probably his third chocolate frog of the evening, and Granger was to his right. She had her legs curled under her and sat facing Potter. Her chest shook against his arm as she giggled at something he had said too quietly for Draco to hear. Curiously, Weasley seemed unconcerned that his girlfriend was rubbing up against Potter.

Draco frowned. Maybe there was some substance to the rumours, after all.

"I told you so," Blaise said from the other side of the fireplace, as if reading Draco's thoughts.

"Does it look like I care?" Draco picked up the _Prophet_ to keep from reacting to Blaise's knowing smirk or looking

over at the trio again.

"Not at all."

The pages rustled as Draco unfolded them and pretended to read; he'd already scanned the more interesting articles earlier that evening.

Blaise put down his empty glass and stood. "Well, I'm off to bed."

"See you," Draco said, not lifting his eyes from the paper. He ignored the snort Blaise gave as he passed Draco on

the way to the eighth-year boys' dormitory.

Once he was alone on his side of the common room, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. The note was soft and wrinkled after three days of riding around on his person. Careful not to let anyone catch a glimpse, he unfolded it behind the _Prophet_ and smoothed out the kinks.

As his fingers moved over the line of chicken scrawl, his heart did an embarrassing ballerina twirl and his stomach flipped in response.

Do you like girls?

Potter had passed him the note in Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday, after Draco had told Daphne for the second time that no, he didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with her and her sister.

Draco had read it and then looked across the aisle at Potter, who had worried his lower lip as their eyes met. Then he'd folded the note and slid it underneath his book, putting an abrupt end to the unexpected exchange. There was no way he'd ever answer such a question in writing. He might consider replying verbally, but only if he knew for certain that Potter's motive for asking was romantic. So far, Potter had given little indication that such was the case.

The sound of Granger's voice pulled Draco from his musings.

"It's getting late," she announced.

Weasley yawned and stood up, as if on cue.

"Harry, you should get some sleep, too," she said, as she and Weasley began to walk away together.

"Not tired, yet," said Potter. His words were slurred and his eyelids droopy. "Gonna stay up and read for a bit."

Draco suppressed a snigger. Whatever Potter planned on doing in his drunken state, he doubted very much it was reading. It was a smart thing to tell Granger though—she'd understand.

He waited until Granger and Weasley left, before folding up the note and returning it to his pocket. As much as he would have liked to stay and enjoy the view of Potter drinking from the bottle, his continued presence after everyone had left might have given him away, so he tossed the newspaper back onto the table and abandoned his comfortable chair.

He took a moment to stretch before heading off, and didn't miss the way Potter's eyes traveled down his torso to the strip of skin that was revealed when his jumper rode up.

"Hey, where're you going?" Potter asked when Draco turned away.

"To bed," said Draco. "It's late."

Potter yawned. "S'not that late. Stay, keep me company."

"I'm not part of your fan club, Potter," Draco said even as he moved towards the sofa. "I've more important things to do than stroke your ego."

Potter's face fell, but his eyes never left Draco's. "Sit down. I wanted to ask you something."

Draco resisted the urge to ask if Potter wouldn't rather wait until he was sober, and sat.

Potter watched him for a moment. He licked his lips, and looked as though he was making a concerted effort to speak. Then he leaned towards Draco, until their faces were inches apart, and took Draco's chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Wow—your chin's pointy."

"Is there something you wanted to ask, Potter?" Draco hoped the feigned irritation would mask his nervousness.

"Not good with words," Potter replied, and then he smashed their lips together.

Before Draco's brain could process what was happening and decide on an appropriate response, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach took flight, and his cock stirred in reaction to Potter's sudden closeness. His mouth opened on its own, giving way to Potter's tongue.

Potter tasted like Firewhisky and smelled like warmth and spice. Draco moaned and arched against him as their tongues slid together too slowly and threatened his sanity.

When it became difficult to breathe, Potter released his mouth. He rested his forehead against the side of Draco's face; his breath was hot and heavy against Draco's cheek. It reeked of alcohol, too, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

"Is that a yes?" Potter asked.

Draco wasn't sure what the question had been, but he knew that the answer was indeed yes. He nodded, and Potter's mouth crashed against his own again.

There wasn't a hint of gentleness in Potter's kiss; it was all wetness and heat and heavy breathing—everything Draco had fantasised about but doubted it would be. He offered no resistance when Potter lay back and pulled Draco down on top of him.

Potter spread his thighs, allowing Draco to lie in between them, then pulled him closer by the arse and thrust up against him. Potter's cock was hard against his own, and all Draco could think about was the overwhelming need to rut against the other boy until they both came. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Potter was drunk and that they might both regret this later, but there was no going back now.

Potter hissed and moaned and bit Draco's lip as they moved together, and every rough thrust sent a thrill through Draco's veins. At last, strong thigh muscles tightened around Draco's hips. He stopped moving when Potter's breath hitched, and he watched while the other boy threw his head back against the arm of the sofa. When Potter's breath returned a moment later, ragged and heavy, Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck and resumed thrusting. A moment later, he came with a stifled moan.

When Draco recovered, Potter was chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Draco asked.

"I was jus' thinking... anyone could've walked in and seen us."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, well, as long as it was me lying in between your legs..."

"Mmm," said Potter. "Next time I'll be in between yours."

Something tightened in Draco's chest at Potter's words. There wasn't likely to be a next time, because Potter was drunk and there was a good chance he wouldn't remember any this in the morning. And if he did, he might think it repulsive or be angry at Draco for having taken advantage of him.

With a heavy sigh, Draco sat back and pulled out his wand to clean them both up. By the time he finished, Potter was snoring loudly.

Tbc...


	2. Cupid's Dart

Harry woke up with a pounding headache and a kink in his neck. When at last he felt up to opening a single eye, he knew by the familiar tapestries decorating the walls that he was in the eighth-year common room. He had fallen sleep on the sofa, and now his neck and shoulder muscles were kicking his arse for it. Exactly why he had stayed behind after everyone else had gone off to bed, he couldn't remember. He shut his eye again and held his aching, spinning head in his hands. If he moved even the tiniest bit, he would vomit all over the rug.

The sleeves of Harry's sweatshirt fell toward his face as he pressed the heels of his hands into his temples, and he noticed that he smelled strange. Not bad—just different. It was a foreign scent, as if he had borrowed someone else's clothes or had prolonged body contact with another boy. A glance down at his Falmouth Falcons hoodie confirmed that it wasn't the former. He groaned, worried that he'd done something he would regret.

Last time he'd got this pissed, at the celebration that followed the rebuilding of Hogwarts, he'd led Justin Finch-Fletchley to a dark, empty classroom and snogged him for an hour. Afterwards Justin somehow got it in his head that they were a couple, and when Harry told him he wasn't interested in dating anyone, Justin was heartbroken for weeks. Harry lost count of how many love notes and poems he'd received before Justin finally got over him and moved on. A repeat of that disaster really wasn't necessary.

As if out of nowhere, for Harry hadn't heard any footsteps, a hand clamped down on Harry's shoulders and shook him.

"Harry, wake up." It was Hermione.

Harry groaned.

"Honestly, Harry, you should have known better than to pass out in the common room. How does your neck feel?"

Sometimes Hermione reminded him too much of Molly. She'd make a fine wife for Ron, Harry thought as he opened his good eye again; the lids of the other were still glued together by a crusty discharge.

"About as good as my head," he grumbled.

"Here, drink this." Hermione shoved something cool and smooth into his hand.

Harry accepted the bottle and sat up with slow, careful movements. Meanwhile, Hermione picked up the bottle of Firewhisky and checked the level of remaining amber liquid. Appearing satisfied that he hadn't drunk any more after she and Ron had left, Hermione set the bottle back down on the table and took a seat beside Harry on the sofa.

Harry uncorked the bottle and drank the light blue potion. It tasted of aniseed and left his tongue feeling numb, but the nausea and the throbbing in his head stopped almost as soon as he finished swallowing.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

"Much."

As they sat in silence, waiting for Ron to meet them, Harry surreptitiously sniffed his shirt again. Its fragrance stirred fuzzy memories of a hard body against his own, of someone's warm breath on his face.

"Hermione-was anyone else here, besides me, when you left?"

"No one but Draco," she said. "Why?"

Harry's stomach flipped, but he kept his face expressionless and shrugged. "Just wondering."

"You're lucky it was only Draco. Do you remember that Justin incident?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow and grinned. The frivolous tone in which she said that first part stung a little. Harry didn't think there was anything _only_ about Draco, who was all he could think about these days.

"How could I forget?"

They heard Ron's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. A moment later, Ron appeared, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Let's go'n'eat," he said. "I'm hungry."

Harry and Hermione rose to join him, and together they headed down to the Great Hall.

Draco had been watching Potter throughout breakfast, searching for hints as to whether or not he had any memory of the previous night's activities. So far, the signs indicated it was more than likely that Potter did remember; he couldn't seem to keep his eyes from drifting over to the Slytherin table.

The first time Draco had caught Potter staring, the other boy had turned away and rubbed the back of his neck. The second time, he dropped his gaze to his plate and stabbed at his bacon in an unsurpassed display of torpor. The third time, Granger saved the day when she nudged Potter's arm and pointed at the ceiling. Potter appeared thankful for her oblivious intervention, and he feigned a keen interest in the unusual cloud formation she had pointed out. Or that's what Draco assumed, anyway. For all he knew, Potter was an avid cloud-watcher.

"The Golden Boy looks a bit flushed," Blaise said, nodding towards the trio. "What do you reckon Weasley's up to with his hand under the table?"

Draco hadn't noticed it before—he made it a point not to look at Weasley unless it was unavoidable—but Weasley's right hand was indeed out of sight, and he was sitting close enough to Potter that he might as well have been squeezing Potter's thigh or doing something even more unspeakable.

Draco gritted his teeth.

Blaise sniggered and sipped his pumpkin juice.

The day dragged on and on. Draco had written to his parents, polished his broom, wanked in the Quidditch shed, flown around the grounds for a good hour and a half, wanked in the shower, eaten dinner, flipped through some books and magazines, and wanked again in bed. He'd even found time in between to admonish the elves for their infrequent and insufficient polishing of his shoes—they used magic, for Salazar's sake!

Yet it was only eight o'clock. That left Draco way too much time to fantasise about his session on the sofa with Potter. If he wanked any more, his cock would be raw.

He wasn't in the mood for Daphne and Pansy's matchmaking schemes or Blaise's infuriating arrogance, but he did realise that sitting alone in the dormitory with thoughts of Potter was not the best way to ensure that his cock remained in his trousers for the rest of the night. Besides, he'd come to appreciate Blaise's bartending skills, and if he joined the others in the common room, he would stand a good chance of being served some sort of fancy new drink.

Draco yawned and stretched his arms over his head, then reached for his discarded jumper at the end of the bed. He took a glance in the mirror to confirm that his hair was slicked back and tidy. Once he was satisfied that his appearance was impeccable, he sprayed on some cologne—in case Potter was around—and headed downstairs.

When he entered the common room, his heart sank a little: Potter wasn't there. Blaise was present, however, along with Pansy and Daphne. The two girls beamed at him. _Oh, joy_.

"Hi, Draco," Daphne said in her high-pitched voice.

"Evening, Daphne." Draco turned to Blaise, who was returning from the secret drinks cabinet they had charmed to turn into a bookcase if a professor ever came into a room. Though they were of age, eighth-years weren't allowed to drink at Hogwarts.

"Glad you decided to join us," said Blaise. He was holding a blue-violet drink.

"What's that?" Draco asked, taking the glass out of Blaise's hand

Blaise sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed an ankle over his knee. "Cupid's Dart."

"It looks girly."

"How's it girly? It's blue."

"It's not blue, it's—" Draco looked into the glass and wrinkled his nose. "Periwinkle."

Blaise shrugged. "No one's forcing it on you."

Draco swirled the drink around a few times before taking a tentative sniff. He had expected a fruity aroma, but the scent he inhaled was mostly herbal, if a little sweet.

"Just try it, Draco," said Pansy. "It tastes good."

Draco turned to her, meaning to ask where hers was, but then he spotted the two glasses on the coffee table. All that was left in them was a layer of melting ice. He brought the drink to his lips and took a sip. Daphne giggled, and he shot her a glare over the rim of the glass.

The taste was odd, but not unpleasant. A little flowery, maybe, but mostly herbal. It left a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Draco took another sip and licked his lips. "It's decent. I'll just keep this, then. You can make yourself another one."

"No, I think I can do without." Blaise leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him, looking smug. "How are you feeling?"

Draco's mouth went dry. He held Blaise's amused gaze for a moment, then looked suspiciously at his drink. He was about to say he felt just fine, when suddenly he felt a stirring in his groin. His pants were getting tight.

Daphne giggled again, louder this time, and Pansy joined in.

"What is this?" Draco demanded through clenched teeth. He slammed the glass down on the table beside Blaise.

"I told you what it's called," Blaise said. "I think Daphne here would enjoy explaining what it does, wouldn't you, Daphne?"

Daphne nodded, her loose blonde curls bouncing.

"It's clear what it does," Draco said, but then he froze. "Or is there more?"

"Oh, there's more." Blaise indicated to Daphne that she had the floor.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to take care of that yourself, Draco." Daphne jerked her head at his crotch, then leaned over and giggled into Pansy's shoulder. "Your, little—or should I say moderately-sized—problem is one that can only be relieved by the person you most desire."

Both girls erupted in a fit of laughter.

Blaise smiled at Draco as if he'd done him a favour. "Best get started looking for the object of your affections. They say that an erection lasting more than a few hours can be dangerous."

Draco flicked two fingers at Blaise, and then he abandoned the common room as fast as he could without looking ridiculous.

"She's probably out in the courtyard!" Daphne called after him.

Draco rushed to the toilet, where he hid in a cubicle and hastily unzipped his trousers. He hoped they'd been trying to deceive him, that the drink had been nothing more than an aphrodisiac, and that he'd find relief as soon as he slipped his hand into his pants and wrapped his fingers around his cock.

He did just that, but to his distress, he didn't feel a thing. It was as if his hand wasn't there. He squeezed tighter, and still he felt nothing.

"Fuck," said Draco. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He tucked himself back inside his pants, zipped up his trousers, and pressed his crotch up against the door. No matter how hard he rubbed himself against the wood, though, he felt no friction whatsoever.

Draco stepped away from the cubicle door and took a few deep breaths. _Okay, stay calm, _he thought._ I just need to find Potter and get him drunk enough that he'll touch me. I can _Accio_ my robes so everyone doesn't see my erection while I'm looking for him. But what if he doesn't want to drink at all? I could just tell him the truth—maybe then he'd take pity on me. _Salazar, it was hard to think with his cock throbbing like it was.

The door to the toilet creaked, and someone stepped inside. Draco stiffened. He waited quietly while the other boy went about his business. There was the sound of a fly going down, followed by the tinkle of piss going into the urinal. Then the zipper went back up, and the boy walked over to the sink and turned on the water. He coughed.

That voice sounded familiar. Draco's cock twitched at the sound of it.

"Potter?"

"_Malfoy?_"

Draco unlatched the cubicle door and burst out.

"I need your help," he said, and he grabbed Potter's hand and pulled it towards his cock.

"Malfoy, what're you—?" Potter caught sight of the bulge in Draco's trousers, and his jaw dropped. He pulled his hand away. "You're hard!"

"Yes, I know. And I can't take care of it myself, so if you'd please just offer me a little help—"

The part of Draco's mind that remained sober despite his arousal—the part not controlling his actions—told him he was acting like a lunatic and that Potter would have to be insane not to hex him and leave.

But apparently Potter _was _insane, because he had yet to reach for his wand. Instead, he stood motionless, brow furrowed. He spoke slowly. "Why can't you take care of it yourself? And why me?"

"Blaise and the girls gave me some sort of drink. It makes me unable to feel my own hand, or anything else that touches my dick. It has to be another person." Potter didn't need to know that it needed to be a particular person. Draco felt his cheeks flush. "And, well—you're right here."

Potter looked at him. The intensity of those emerald eyes sent a surge of heat through Draco's body.

"Do you want me to go and find Astoria, or whatever Daphne's sister is called?" Potter asked.

"No!" said Draco. "She's the reason they gave me the potion. They wanted me to go to her."

That was true about Pansy and Daphne, he was sure. Blaise was another story. He knew who Draco desired the most, even if Draco had never admitted it. The bastard was probably having the laugh of his life as they spoke.

"Please." Draco pressed Potter's palm to his crotch. His cock exploded with sensation at the touch; it was so overwhelming he thought his legs would give out under him. He grabbed hold of Potter's arm with his free hand for support.

"You want me to toss you off?" Potter asked. His eyes were wide and disbelieving.

Draco swallowed, and nodded.

"Okay…"

Potter locked the door with a wave of his wand, then turned around and pushed Draco back into the sink. He took a deep breath and, lower lip crushed between his teeth, pulled down Draco's zipper.

The silence that followed was broken only by Draco's ragged breathing when Potter slipped a hand inside Draco's pants and there was no longer any barrier between fingers and cock. Draco's heart was hammering in his chest; he was too embarrassed to look at Potter, so he watched the other boy's hand as it started to stroke his shaft. Potter was wearing a snake ring on his thumb, and although Draco thought snake jewellery was an odd thing for him to wear, the sight of the silver serpent coiled around Potter's thumb spiked his arousal even further.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm?" Draco kept his eyes on the hand stroking his cock.

"Were you in the common room with me last night, after everyone else left?"

"Yeah, I left after you fell asleep." Draco decided it was best to leave out what had happened in between.

"Oh." Potter's voice was barely above a whisper, and Draco thought he detected a hint of disappointment in his tone.

He glanced up at Potter's face. "Disappointed?"

"Not quite."

Potter slid his thumb over the tip of Draco's cock, smearing precome over the glans. The slippery feeling caused Draco to quiver, and he tightened his hold on the sink behind him while letting his head fall back. Only Potter could make him feel this good while stabbing a knife into his gut.

Draco gave a whimper of disappointment when Potter's hand left his cock. He opened his eyes to see Potter spitting into his palm. "Oh, fuck."

Potter smirked as he coated Draco's cock with his saliva. "This ought to speed things up."

The lubrication felt great, but it was the rhythmic squelching noise that drove Draco crazy. He wanted to pull Potter close and kiss him, to hold onto Potter's shoulders as the pleasure built. But he couldn't, because the feeling obviously wasn't reciprocated; Potter was doing everthing he could to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Draco looked down at Potter's hand, at his ring, which would soon be covered with spunk. His balls tightened. He was so, so close and completely unprepared for the series of sibilant sounds that left Potter's lips. He looked up at Potter's face again, and watched how the tip of his tongue peeked out from between his teeth as he spoke Parseltongue.

Breathing ceased to be an automatic function as his climax began. All that existed was Potter's incessant stroking and hissing. Draco tore his gaze away from the other boy's mouth to stare at his own cock as it spurted come in thick strands. Most of it landed on the top of Potter's hand and slid down his knuckles and the backs of his fingers. It covered the ring and oozed underneath it.

Draco gasped for air as he came down from his high. Potter slowly stopped moving his hand. It was perfect, like floating down from the clouds… until the doorknob rattled.

Both boys started at the sound.

"Draco, are you in there?" It was Daphne.

Draco cursed under his breath, and Potter laughed in a half-amused, half self-conscious way. A shy smile lingered on his face for a moment, but vanished at the shouted "_Alohamora!_" that came from behind the door.

Draco straightened up and tucked himself back into his pants. Meanwhile, Potter grabbed a towel and began wiping his hand, his back turned towards the door.

Pansy strode inside, followed closely by Daphne.

"What were you doing?" Pansy asked, looking suspiciously from Draco to Potter.

Daphne's mouth hung open.

"What does it look like we were doing?" Draco snapped.

Potter's eyes grew wide. Draco's reaction clearly wasn't one he had expected. It came as a shock to Draco as well, but he was sick of those girls and their giggling and ill-conceived plans for getting him to finally make a move on Astoria.

"You're gay?" Daphne and Pansy asked in unison.

"I am," Draco said. On the spur of the moment, he grabbed Potter by the arm and pulled him close. "And Potter here is my boyfriend. It's him I'll be going to Hogsmeade with next weekend."

Draco had no idea what he was doing; it was insane. But prospect of finally having those girls off his back had suddenly seemed so appealing, he hadn't been able resist the opportunity to present Potter as his boyfriend.

Potter's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, just like Pansy and Daphne's did, but thankfully he didn't deny the claim. Daphne made a disgusted face and left. Pansy watched her go, then turned to look at the boys.

"Nice one," she said, jerking her head in Harry's direction. Then she winked at them and followed Daphne out of the toilets.

When the door closed behind her, Potter turned to Draco. His jaw was jutting forward. "What was that about?" he asked.

Draco cleared his throat. It had been a long time since he'd heard Potter sound so angry. "I want them to leave me alone once and for all."

"Oh, well that explains everything, doesn't it?" Potter flung his towel into the basket. "What if I don't want to be your pretend boyfriend?"

It had been a thoughtless act, Draco had to admit, but he hadn't exactly had the time to consult Potter about his decision. "I'm sorry," he said. "But thank you for playing along. I would have been mortified if you hadn't."

He watched as the other boy turned on the water to wash his hands properly. When Potter remained silent after drying his hands again, Draco added, "It would only be for a week, though. We could go to Hogsmeade together, then break up the next day."

Potter turned to glare at him. "I have a better idea. How about we break up _now_?"

And, with a shake of his head and a huff, Potter left. The door shut behind him, and silence rang in Draco's ears.

He sighed. "That went well."

Tbc...


	3. Butterbeer

The eighth-year Gryffindor boys didn't have a dormitory to all to themselves, as they'd done in their previous years at Hogwarts. Only about half the students had returned to repeat their seventh year, and the Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, had wanted to keep the number of students sharing dormitories the same as it had always been, so she had assigned two Houses to each dormitory. It was just Harry's luck that while Hufflepuffs got to share their quarters with Ravenclaws, Gryffindors had to room with Slytherins.

He hadn't minded the arrangement until now. Once the initial shock of the news had worn off, Draco and Blaise's constant presence had ceased to bother him. The Slytherin boys had kept mostly to themselves, at first, but when they were required to interact with the Gryffindors they managed to be polite, if a little brusque. A few weeks into the school year, they'd begun to share some of their booze with the Gryffindors, and Harry had even managed to strike up a few conversations with Draco about Potions and Quidditch.

Yet as Harry lay awake in his bed Sunday night, following the spectacle in the toilets earlier that day, he wished Draco were far on the other side of the castle. He could hear the other boy's restless tossing and turning, the rustling of sheets as he adjusted his pillow, the occasional sigh that left his lips when another half hour had passed, and he was still awake. Harry knew how that felt—it was past two in the morning, and he hadn't managed to get a minute of sleep.

He turned the silver ring on his thumb, remembering how it had felt to have his fingers wrapped around Draco's cock, to have his come sliding down his fingers. Something stirred low in his belly. He wanted to touch Draco again, and to be touched by him. Wanted it desperately enough to consider forgiving Draco and agreeing to be his pretend boyfriend.

As Harry drifted off to sleep, he wondered how thick the line between a pretend boyfriend and a real boyfriend was, and what the chances of crossing it were.

*****

"I still can't believe Malfoy said the two of you were dating," Ron said on the way to breakfast the next morning. Harry had given in and told him the whole story after he had overheard Daphe and Pansy's conversation in the common room the night before. The last thing Harry needed was for Ron to be angry with him for keeping secrets.

Ron stopped just inside the entrance to the Great Hall and turned to Harry. "And I can't believe you—" He made an obscene gesture with his hand.

Harry patted Ron's shoulder. "I'll see you in class, okay?"

"Where are you—?" Ron's voice trailed off as Harry wound his way through the crowds.

Harry walked slower as he approached his destination, the confidence in his step faltering. When he stopped at the Slytherin table, Draco looked up from his breakfast. Draco's eyes grew wide and his muscles stiffened visibly.

"Why didn't you wait for me, _sweetheart_?" Despite his nervousness, Harry had to fight to keep a straight face.

Draco's eyes flashed at the endearment. "I thought you were mad at me, _kitten_."

Harry slid into the space next Draco just as Blaise arrived at the table. "Oh, sorry, Blaise. Did you want to sit here?"

Blaise raised his hands in front of him, and he made a face as if the last thing he wanted to do was intrude on whatever oddity was occurring in front of him. "No, it's okay. I'll just sit over there."

Blaise moved a little further down the table, next to Millicent Bulstrode and Tracy Davis. Pansy and Daphne, who had been sitting across from Draco, got up and followed.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked once they were gone.

Harry shrugged. "You wanted to pretend we were dating. Don't boyfriends sit together?"

A smile tugged on the corners of Draco's lips, but was subdued. "Yes, I suppose they do."

The week passed by much too quickly, and when Harry found himself sitting next to Draco at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday, he wished it was still Monday. They hadn't talked about breaking up after their return from Hogsmeade, but he remembered Draco suggesting that very thing.

Harry's throat tightened. He wasn't ready to give up his role as Draco's boyfriend; they hadn't even snogged yet. Oh, he had tried on numerous occasions to pull Draco in for a kiss in between lessons, but the other boy had turned his face away, pushed at his chest, and explained that they weren't the kind of couple that enjoyed public displays of affection.

_So this is it, then,_ Harry thought. They were going to finish their Butterbeers, maybe visit a few more shops, then return to Hogwarts before the rest of the students and pretend they'd had a fight and broken up. Draco hadn't said so, but Harry imagined that was the plan.

Beneath the table, Harry rubbed the material of Draco's trousers wistfully with the backs of his fingers. Draco looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, but held his breath as Harry leaned closer.

"I think we should snog and cuddle a bit," Harry said as Draco turned away and took a sip of his Butterbeer. "I know you said we're not that type of couple, but if we don't, everyone will start to question whether we were for real. The girls might start chasing after you again."

Draco looked over to where Daphne sat with her sister, who was watching their every move with a glint in her eyes. "You're probably right."

There was a line of foam above Draco's upper lip. Draco reached for his napkin, but Harry stopped him, covering the other boy's hand with his own. "Let me."

And then, his heart thumping so loudly he couldn't hear his own breath, Harry closed the distance between them. First, their lips brushed, a feather-light touch that ignited every nerve in Harry's body. Then Harry darted out his tongue to lick off the foam. Draco tensed and arched towards him in such a way that Harry was sure his toes had curled in his shoes. Harry placed a hand on the small of Draco's back and pressed harder against his lips. When Draco opened his mouth, he slid his tongue inside.

The din around them faded, talk and laughter replaced by shaky breathing and the wet sounds of tongues and mouths moving in unison. Harry wound his arm around Draco's hip to prevent his escape until he was ready to stop. Then he pulled back and rested his forehead against the other boy's. He knew everyone was staring at them, but his own eyes remained locked on Draco's glistening, parted lips.

After what seemed like an eternity, the people around them resumed their conversations and began sipping at their drinks again. Harry took Draco's hand and laced their fingers together on top of the table for anyone who looked to see.

"There," he said, resting his head against Draco's shoulder. "Was that so bad?"

About ten seconds later, when Harry decided he wasn't going to get an answer, Draco said, "It was mortifying."

Harry laughed. It _had_ been mortifying—but it had also been one of the most thrilling moments of his life, one that wasn't likely to ever happen again.

Tbc…


	4. Chocolate Cream Liqueur

Draco would never have admitted it to another living being, but he still felt weak in the knees as he and Potter left the Three Broomstick and stepped out into the cool autumn breeze. The air was dry and smelled faintly of burnt wood. Every now and then, a dry leaf tumbled towards them over the pavement as they wandered aimlessly through the village.

Draco frowned. Autumn had always been his favourite time of the year; it was the beginning of the Quidditch season at Hogwarts, as well as a sign that Christmas, his favourite holiday, was on its way. But autumn also symbolised endings, and it reminded Draco that his pretend relationship with Potter was almost over. His heart plummeted at the thought.

Potter was staring down at the ground as they walked, his face drawn. He didn't seem to notice that Draco was watching him. Their fingers were still laced together, and before Draco realised what he was doing, he gave Potter's hand a squeeze. Potter looked at him then, eyes widened, and then his lips curved into a smile.

Draco looked away and cleared his throat. "So, what are your plans for the Halloween Ball?"

Potter shrugged. "I suppose I'll just tag along with Ron and Hermione."

It was the answer Draco had expected, and it unnerved him. Like everyone else, he wondered why Potter was always content being the third wheel when he could have almost anyone he wanted at Hogwarts. "I'm sure you can still get a date," he said, testing Potter's reaction. "All the best ones are probably taken, but you can probably find someone halfway decent."

Potter sighed. "I guess I just don't feel the need to find a date for the sake of having a date."

The wheels in Draco's head were beginning to spin in earnest. His suspicions weren't justified by anything more than silly rumours— Blaise delighted in reminding him of them at every turn— but he was helpless to stop the pang of jealously that wrung his insides. Either Potter's war experiences had damaged his libido, which seemed unlikely considering how hot and passionate Potter had been that night in the common room, or he really was getting some behind the scenes.

"Don't you ever want to, you know, get shagged?" Draco asked.

Potter slowed down and raised a brow at him. "Why the sudden concern with my sex life?"

"What? I'm not—"

"Because if you want me to go to the ball with you, I will. And then afterwards we can, you know—" Potter grinned. "Get shagged."

Draco felt his heart jump up into his throat, and he swallowed hard, hoping to send it back to where it belonged. He stopped walking. "I—you'd go with me?"

Potter nodded. "Sure."

"All right," Draco said after a moment's thought. "Do you have a costume?"

"No, I wasn't planning on dressing up. Do you want me to?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's the _Halloween Ball_, Potter. Of course you have to dress up."

He pulled Potter by the hand and started to drag him in the direction of Gladrags Wizardwear.

"What are you going as?" Potter asked.

"A vampire."

"How original."

Draco's glare seemed to have no effect on Potter, who asked, "That costume won't need much work, will it?"

"What do mean by that?" Draco asked.

"You're already pale and pointy. All you need is a cape." A self-satisfied grin brightened Potter's face.

"_Pointy?_"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Your chin, and nose, and canines." Here Potter pointed to one of his own canines, and Draco was overcome with the urge to run his tongue over those teeth. "All pointy."

They had made it to the front of the shop. "Come on," Draco said, giving Potter's arm a tug.

Potter didn't budge. "You stay here. I'm going in alone."

"Why?"

"Because," said Potter, "my costume's going to be a surprise." 

*****

Life as Potter's pretend boyfriend—or real boyfriend or whatever the hell they were now that they had failed to break up and had instead decided to go to the Halloween Ball together—was perfect. It was late Sunday afternoon, and they had laid out a blanket on the far side of the lake. Draco lay propped up on his right elbow, stretched out alongside Potter, who was watching the clouds as they drifted across the sky. In his left hand, Draco held a small bottle of Bogaert's Chocolate Cream Liqueur, which he had purchased at an off-licence in Hogsmeade after depositing Potter at Gladrags. It may not have been the most masculine alcoholic beverage in the world, but Draco loved chocolate, and it was that much better when it gave him a slight buzz.

"How does that taste?" Potter asked, his eyes never leaving the sky.

Draco handed him the bottle. "What do you see in those clouds?"

Potter thought for a moment, then pointed upwards. "That right there looks a bit like a Thestral."

It looked a Hippogriff, Draco thought, but he didn't argue. Instead he wrenched the bottle of liqueur from Potter's hand and took a sip.

"I used to do this all the time, before Hogwarts," Potter said, nodding up at the sky. "I didn't have much human companionship back then, so it was a nice way to pass the time."

Draco had done his fair share of cloud watching, too, when he was younger. He and his mother had often sat in the gardens and made a game of seeing who could make out the most animals and magical creatures. It was probably best not to tell Potter that part, though. "Me, too," was all Draco said.

As the minutes passed, Draco began to wonder whether it was the alcohol or Potter's presence that was causing the heat to rise in his belly. Potter appeared as oblivious as ever, but Draco could sense the tension between them rising with every passing minute until it felt like the air he breathed was charged with it. His body tingled and his blood thrummed. He set the bottle down on the grass beside him.

"Harry?" Draco said slowly; the name felt foreign on his tongue. It must have sounded just as strange to Potter's—Harry's—ears, because turned his eyes away from the sky and looked at Draco for the first time since they'd lain down. His eyes were greener than anything else within view.

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco swallowed. "I want—"

He didn't think he could bring himself to say it, but thankfully Harry seemed to know exactly what he wanted, because he raised himself on his elbow and leaned in. The world seemed to stand still for a moment, and then there were fingers in Draco's hand and lips pressing against his own.

At first, the kiss was gentle and unhurried. The taste of Bogaert's Chocolate Cream Liqueur still lingered on Harry's tongue, which slid lightly over Draco's own, making the blood rush to Draco's groin faster than it had the right to. It wasn't long before Draco grew impatient and, with a lusty moan, pressed his mouth more firmly against the other boy's.

Harry pulled Draco down on top of him. His body arched upwards while his hands pressed down on Draco's back and arse. He was as hard as Draco was, and just as breathless when he pulled out of the kiss.

Draco slid a hand under Harry's hoodie and stroked the heated, smooth skin. "I want to do naughty things to you," he whispered into his ear. Then he moved the hand lower, until his fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of Harry's jeans.

Harry's lower abdominal muscles tightened and released, and he sucked in a breath. "You do owe me one."

"I _owe_ you a handjob," Draco drawled as he sat back on his heel and unbuttoned Harry's jeans. "You're about to get a bit more than that."

Harry watched, raised up on both elbows, as Draco pulled down his fly. Draco had expected Harry to be wearing white pants, so he couldn't stop a smirk from forming on his lips when he saw that they were black. He slipped his hand inside, and his fingers found coarse hair and the smooth base of Harry's straining cock.

Draco had never held another bloke's cock in his hand before, never pulled one out of its tight confines while licking his lips with the desire to taste it. And as Harry stared down at him, lips parted and eyes darkened with lust and awe, he imagined that Harry was about to get his first blowjob. It didn't matter if that was the truth; as long as Harry continued to look at him like he was all that existed, Draco was willing to believe it.

He gave Harry's cock a few languid strokes, then darted out his tongue to collect the precome gathered at the tip. The taste changed from salty to bitter, and for a moment Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to proceed. But he tried again. He swirled his tongue around the glans, and when Potter exhaled a long, shaky breath, the muscles under Draco's hand tightening, Draco knew he couldn't stop.

It wasn't long until he fell into an easy rhythm of sliding his mouth up and down Harry's cock. The musky scent grew on him, and even the taste that filled his mouth every now and then when Harry oozed precome became more tolerable after a while.

"Draco…"Harry said a few minutes later, his hand tightening painfully on Draco's shoulder.

Draco knew what it meant, but he didn't stop until Harry tensed and gasped. Warm fluid flooded Draco's mouth, and he cursed his last-minute decision as he shut his eyes and swallowed as if it were a particularly disgusting potion.

When Draco pulled back, wiping his mouth with the end of his sleeve, Harry slumped back down onto the ground with a faint thump. "Fuck, that was good."

Draco allowed him a moment to return to his senses before reminding him that they weren't done yet. 

*****

There was no mistaking the fragrance that filled Harry's nostrils when he pulled Draco close and nuzzled his shoulder. It was the same scent that had lingered on his clothes the morning he had woken up on the common room sofa. He'd suspected as much before, when he'd got a whiff of it while wanking Draco in the toilets, but he hadn't been sure. Now he was certain, and he hated knowing that Draco had lied to him.

Draco, who looked as content as Harry should have felt, pulled Harry's hand up to his face and examined his ring. "Why do you wear this?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know," Draco said, taking on a prattish tone. "Maybe because _he_ had a snake, and he spoke to it in Parseltongue—like you did to me, which was also unexpected."

"Did you like it?"

"You know I did."

"And how's that not unexpected?"

Draco huffed and flipped onto his back. It meant that he was annoyed and wished Harry would stop being difficult.

Harry sighed. "I could try to cut snakes out of my life, but it wouldn't change the fact that I can speak to them, and that I have a connection to them, would it? And on the rare occasion that I did see one, it would probably provoke a much stronger reaction than it does when I see one every time I see my own hand."

"So you've grown numb to it?" Draco turned back towards him and ran his finger over the coiled silver.

Harry's breath hitched as Draco lifted his hand and pulled the ring off with his teeth. "Pretty much."

"Well, I think that's insane," said Draco as he slid the silver snake onto his own thumb. "And I will spare you any such further torture by wearing this myself."

And with that, Draco hid his hand from view.

Tbc…


End file.
